Unnamed Heros
by M.A. Ehrenreich
Summary: A tribute to the heros that J.K. Rowling left out, killed either directly or indirectly by you-know-who. All OC, with regards to book timeline and events. Rated for language and character death.
1. Skye Swenson and Matthew Murdid

No one would ever know the story of the blue eyed warrior. No, as her dead body lay limp alongside the other casualties, no one could guess all she had sacrificed for her cause. A dark aura of curls spilled around her. Her eyelids were closed, never to open again. And, despite his friends' sneers of disapproval, one red haired Death Eater placed a single dandelion next to her, shedding a tear.

I suppose I should start from the beginning, and not the end. Skye Sweson and Matthew Murdid were unlikely friends. Matthew came from a pureblooded family, while Skye was only introduced to magic at the age of eleven, when she received her Hogwarts letter. The summer she got her letter, Matthew took an interest in her. He always wondered what made mudbloods so inferior to purebloods. As he soon discovered, she wasn't very different than him.

Despite their opposite backgrounds, Matthew and Skye became close friends. Skye soon revealed her obsession- flying. She told him her favorite baby story- when asked what she wanted to do when she grew up, she responded with "I'd like to fly", flashing a smile before shyly looking at her shoes. She explained how she was obsessed with speed, how she adored the feeling of wind in her hair. Hearing this, he offered her his broom. Soon, he taught her how to play his favorite sport, Quittitch.

On August 28th, merely a few days before the boarding of the Hogwarts express, Skye interrogated Matthew about the difference between mudbloods and purebloods.

"It doesn't matter much." Matthew's timid eleven year old self explained. "Purebloods are just full of themselves. No one will be mean to you just because you're a mud...muggle born" He lied, using the politically correct term for the first time.

"Good! I'd hate to be an outcast." Skye replied, and inquired a bit more about Quittitch tryouts.

At their arrival at Hogwarts, Skye and Matthew were separated to different houses. Matthew was sorted into Slytherin, while Skye was taken to Ravenclaw.

Skye and Matthew both made friends in their houses- Matthew was asked by his parents to stick to purebloods, while Skye found comfort with staying in halfblood societies. Matthew and Skye both made their house's Quittich teams- Matthew was a beater, while Skye was a chaser.

Skye excelled in charms, while Matthew found transfiguration was his area of expertise. The years passed, and it seemed as though Matthew was being swept away with the pureblood mania.

In their sixth year, Skye finally confronted him. No longer could she turn a blind eye to his scornful comments towards her friends. She took him up to the astronomy tower, away from his malicious friends, and finally asked him.

"In Merlin's name, what's wrong with you?" Skye demanded.

"What do you mean?" He replied.

"You're friends… I don't like them." She said gently. He laughed.

"Well, I don't like yours either. Let's face it, Amanda is bloody clueless." He said.

"At least she doesn't go around hexing people in the halls because they're muggle born! Seriously Matt, I didn't think the rumors were true, but now… I don't know anymore." She whispered, on the verge of crying. He just stood there awkwardly.

"They're not all that bad…" He tried comforting her, wondering what happened these last five years that caused them to drift so far apart.

"Not all that bad?" She spat, nearly hysteric. "They're awful! And so are you! They could hex me left and right for all you care, as long as you get to keep your precious blood status!" She said, realizing the truth of her statement only after she's said it. Looking back at the past few month, she realized how stupid she'd been. They never went out in public anymore, he always declined when she offered they meet at Hogsmeade instead of sneaking out of their dorms at the dead of the night.

"Keep your blood status. Murder some muggles, if it suites you. Just remember, _I _was the one who practiced Quittich with you. _I_ helped you pass your OWLs. Did those… did those Death Eaters ever stay up with you when you were afraid of the boggard in the closet? No. And they never will. You have a choice. Throw away your life for… for _status_, or start to accept that not everyone was born with a wand in one hand and a broom in another." She said, looking him straight in the eyes. What she saw made her want to burst into tears- familiar hazel eyes, boring deep into her soul. He hesitated, and she sighed.

"You're no better than the Death Eaters." She said confidently. "I hope you'll be happy with your pureblood life. I truly don't give a shit." She said. She paused before leaving, but finally spat in his face and ran down the stairs. However, she wasn't fast enough- he could hear her sob.

If only he would have grabbed her wrist or ran after her as he so desperately longed to, it would have made all the difference in the world. He could have wiped her tears, told her it would be all right. But he didn't.

The next day, she attempted to approach him, but his "friends" were in the way.

"Matt?" She asked, tapping him on the shoulder. One of the larger boys of the group sadistically grinned, expecting Matthew to response violently. He hesitated, not sure what to do. However, another boy responded for him.

"Why would he have anything to discuss with you, you filthy mudblood?" He snickered. Skye stood her ground.

"Matt, this'll only take a minute…" She repeated, practically pleading. He still didn't turn around, but just stood there, torn. Meanwhile, a girl in the group muttered "scum". The Slytherins all starred at Matthew, waiting.

"I'm sorry… I can't talk to a… a… m-mudblood" he whispered scornfully, still refusing to look at her.

She could barely disguise her shock and disgust. "I see" She said, turning around. "You made your choice. Now live with it." She said calmly as she walked away. The Slytherins all giggled, giving each other looks of "what was _that_?". Matthew stood still, contemplating his choice. He knew it was wrong before he even made it. So why did it feel so _right_?

* * *

><p>Years later, the war was in full swing. Matthew was a sworn Death Eater, while Skye naturally chose to join the Order. It was a cold October, the coldest it had been in years. The previously white, pure snow turned shades of red, saturated with blood. The excited buzz had died, to be replaced by mournful sighs. Death was a familiar scent, cries of torture no longer taking the Order members aback. Voldemort had heard the prophecy and it seemed all was lost.<p>

Matthew, ever the transfiguration genius, was responsible for planting recording devices in the Order's meeting places. However, one night, as he was listening to the recordings, he heard a voice he never expected to hear again.

He nearly wept as he realized Skye was involved in this entire mess. She didn't deserve the treatment mud… muggleborns received nowadays. She was a splendid witch, better than most purebloods he knew. He supposed he couldn't blame her for attempting to save her friends, but he wished she wouldn't. What did he want? He wanted her to hide. He didn't want to be viewed as a monster. He didn't want to be pressured by his parents to hold up to his surname. He wanted her to be happy… and if possible, be happy with her.

He learned she was assigned to help guard the Potters- a futile task, as Voldemort has specifically set out to destroy them. No matter how great the effort, there was no way to protect them. Worst- he knew he was part of the force dedicated to infiltrate their defenses. He felt as though he had to warn her- and so he did.

* * *

><p>"Skye!" He yelled after her, she turned around, pointing her wand at his chest. He dropped his wand and raised his hands, a gesture of peace.<p>

"Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you" she seethed. However, as his features registered, her eyes softened. Even with the Dark mark on his arm, he still had the shaggy red hair, the mesmerizing hazel eyes… he was still Matt. And yet, he was a Death Eater. He was vicious. And if she had to fight him, so be it.

"I introduced you to Quittitch. I know Sirius Black was your first crush. I helped you pass transfiguration." He said, taking slow, steady steps toward her, his arms still in the air. Finally, he added "you'll never forgive yourself for killing a friend."

"How dare you?" She yelled. "How dare you come here, after all these years, and call yourself a friend? After what you've done to my friends? I'll be in my right mind to kill you right now, or bring you in, you foul git!" She shouted. A single tear rolled down her cheek. He reached to wipe it off, but she slapped his hand away.

"Don't touch me!" She shrieked. "How could you? Wipe my tear off with the same arm your lord marked, why don't you? Why makes me any different?" She asked, looking him in the eyes. "What makes me any different from the countless muggles and muggleborns you tortured?"

He paused. She started walking away, but he grabbed her shoulder. She shook him off, but still turned around.

"Just… Listen to me, alright? There's going to be an attack. October 31st is when it'll take place. Promise me you won't be there." She looked at him, calculating.

"This isn't a trap!" He said, grabbing her shoulders again. "Promise me, right now. Promise me you'll be safe." He said.

With tears in her eyes, she promised she wouldn't be anywhere near the Potter's. They agreed that she'd drink a polyjuice potion and, the next day they'd meet at Hogsmeade. She'd be carrying a dandelion, so it would be easy for him to recognize her. They'd flee the country, possibly head over to the New World. She swore she wouldn't try and fight. At the time, she thought she was telling the truth. But as we later learn, she wasn't.

* * *

><p>The state of the Longbottoms shook Skye so much that she went half mad. She couldn't keep it in anymore- she informed Dumbledore of the attack planned on the Potters. She was so far gone, she didn't even feel the guilt of betrayal. He dismissed her, but she wanted something in return.<p>

"I want to be there." She said, a raw desire for vengeance stirring inside of her. "I want to be there when it all goes down."

Perhaps she had a death wish, or perhaps she was already half mad. Dumbledore didn't have time to investigate. He informed her she'd be doing broom patrol, along with a few other members and that they'd probably get the worst of it. It would be their job to eliminate as many Death Eaters as possible.

She was a backstabber, and she knew it. But by that point, she didn't care. If she was going to hell, she might as well take as many Death Eaters as possible down with her.

* * *

><p>The night crept by- that fateful night of October 31st. Skye was on her broom, feeling the wind in her hair for the last time. They came- not very discreet, mind you. Four dozen Death Eaters wearing cloaks and masks, somehow still ashamed of themselves. And it started.<p>

Lights flashing everywhere, curses spinning out of control. Various cries for help as people were knocked off their brooms. And she saw him- sitting on is broom, starring at her in shock. She had a perfect shot, but… she couldn't bring herself to do it. How would one more death help? The hovered there for a minute, just gazing at each other. Speaking without words. They seemed oblivious to the cacophony around them.

A Death Eater crept behind Skye, and Matthew attempted to cast a killing curse his way. However, his vision was blurred due to tears, and he missed. He hit Skye. She fell off her broom, dwindling to the ground.

* * *

><p>There you have it. The dismiss of Skye Swenson, the girl who always wanted to fly. The girl who's beautiful blue eyes stopped everyone short. The girl who never got to hold that one dandelion, the signal of safety.<p>

I suppose closure is called for. Matthew could never forgive himself, nor love again. He was found in his flat about two weeks after her death. Drunk, he tried to obliviate himself, but it went all wrong and he ended up dead. He was found with a picture of two teenagers in his hand, with deep creases, seemingly unfolded and refolded in his palm countless times. The picture was a bit faded, featuring a boy and a girl laughing at some joke lost between the folds of time. A short girl with shocking blue eyes and a strong boy with red hair, both so innocent and young.

It might have been different, if not for the prejudices of purebloods. If not for one undeniable evil man, Matthew and Skye would have been happy together. If not for Tom Riddle, Skye Swenson and Matthew Murdid would both be alive, as so many others would.

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><p><strong>AN: What do you think? Should I write more? I love haters. I'm hungry for reviews. Feed me? :)**

**Faithfully, **

**-M.A. Ehrenreich**


	2. Grace Gorguson and Primrose

Grace- a beautiful name for a beautiful girl. And graceful she was. Her silky blonde hair captivated nearly the entire male population of Hogwarts. Yes, Grace may have been lusted, but she was also hated. Who could hate such a beautiful being, you might ask? The one and only, Pansy Parkinson.

Pansy was a spoiled little thing from the moment she was born. Anything she desired, she received- whether through tantrums or shocking manipulations. But she couldn't ask for beauty.

No, Pansy Parkinson wasn't remotely pretty. Or maybe she was, but her disgusting personality covered it all up. It was all wrong- her brown hair too flat, her lips too thin, her nostrils too wide. She had always relied on her pure blood or social status to get her ahead, though she was rather intelligent for a Slytherin. And if she wanted Draco Malfoy, she would get him one way or the other.

It was sixth year, and Draco had sworn himself to the dark lord. In Pansy's eyes, he was so much more serious and mature than the other clueless Hogwarts boys. However, like everyone else, he fawned over Grace. Day by day, she was forced to endure Draco chasing Grace like a lovesick puppy. And why wouldn't he? Grace was perfect; a pureblooded Slytherin, but somehow impossibly gentle and kind. She had clear green eyes- unlike the muddy ones Pansy possessed- and the softest hair you've ever laid eyes on. Pansy and her friends would constantly trash talk her, claiming she was actually part veela, to heal their torn and tattered egos.

Pansy constantly attempted to make advances at Draco, but it was nearly impossible. Both had dominating personalities and they couldn't stand _not_ being in control of each other. Draco preferred the easily attainable girls, the ones who didn't have a mind of their own and complied with whatever he asked of htem. But Pansy would never just give in to him, she would give him hell. He liked that… as a friend. But he didn't seem to think she'd make a good lover.

"Pansy," She muttered in her dormitory, trying to find a blouse that might distract people from her pug-resembling face. "Who'd want to date a girl named Pansy?".

The worst part was, Grace was nice. Pansy might have been able to deal with mere attractiveness, but not kindness. It just made it so difficult to hate her. She just ended up despising herself for hating her, and then despising herself for not being able to hate her.

Pansy made a conscious effort to exclude Grace from the female Slytherin crowd, and often succeeded. However, some girls seemed to think that if they stayed in her company long enough, some of her charm would rub off on them. This resulted in group of around three fan girls constantly swarming "her royal highness". In response, Pansy made it a point to refer to them as the Pathetics.

The girls were one thing, but the boys? Like lovesick puppies, they adored her. And Draco… handsome Draco, succumbing to her! Pansy couldn't get over it.

Grace had no idea all this was going on. Soaked in her own vanity, she didn't realize the danger of threatening the popularity of Pansy Parkinson. But a year later, she paid for her beauty.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Pansy!" Grace greeted her classmate, perky as ever. Pansy was shaking.<p>

After the Malfoy's loss of power and status, Pansy was rumored to have been a bit off. Naturally, she blamed Grace- she blamed Grace for everything nowadays.

Pansy had somehow convinced herself that if she were to rid of Grace, everything would be fine. Potter would be found. Draco's family would be redeemed. Draco would love her.

"Wha…What are you doing?" Grace asked as Pansy raised her wand. "Pansy?" She asked, hysteric.

"Avada kedavra" Pansy murmured heartlessly, releasing a flash of green. It was fitting, the green flash. Green, the color of jealousy which filled every last fiber of her being. And then, the beautiful body, the one she longed to be, slumped forward. Later that day, a mess of blonde hair was found in the Slytherin dormitories, with no trace to the cold blooded killer.

And what, may I remind, caused this unjustified murder? Voldemort's manipulations. A teenage love triangle would never have gone so far, and ended so tragically, if not for his pushing Pansy over her mental limits. And the irony- oh, the bitter irony. Even after her competition was eliminated, Draco never did choose Pansy. No, years later, Draco married a girl named Astoria. Pansy escaped Wizarding England, never to be seen or heard of again. And absolutely no one ever paused to consider the murder of the beautiful Grace Gorguson.

* * *

><p>Few tears were shed for Primrose, the lovely fourth year who had died in the Battle of Hogwarts. Few tears were shed, because her body was never found.<p>

Primrose was deemed missing after the Battle of Hogwarts. No one bothered to look for yet another unimportant Hufflepuff.

No one would recall how her mundane brown hair turned golden when struck with sunlight, or how her laugh sounded like the soft jingle of musical bells. No one remembered how she would manage to make any homesick first year feel at home with her comforting words and her warm hugs.

Never again will she sit on the astronomy tower, playing love songs on muggle instruments. Never again will she jokingly duel with her best friend, or start telling a joke and forget the punch line halfway but laugh anyway. Never again will she attempt at writing lyrics in her dormitory for hours, and end up oversleeping nd being late to Potions. Never again would anyone witness her take care of a sick student, ever so maternally.

She will never become a Healer. She will never save a life. She will never mature, never marry, never have kids.

When we mourn the missing, we claim to miss who they were. But truly, what we miss is who they'll never get to be. And _that_, is the real loss that comes with losing a life.

Primrose was never a main character, she was merely one of the _fifty others_. But for some lonely first year, or some injured student, she was everything. Her body will never be found, but her acts of kindness will never be forgotten.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This was kind of short. I had these two seperate stories in my head, and I figured I'd slam them together in one chapter. Thank you so much for reviewing. Tell me if you like these new ones, or whether you liked the extreme detail of Skye and Matthew. Also, for those who noticed- yes, Skye and Matthew was very similar to Snape and Lily. I didnt mean for it to come out like that... Funny story, it actually came to me in a dream :) Anyways, review time!**


	3. Joshua Gibbon and the Squib

"We wear the mask that grins and lies,

It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes-

This debt we pay to human guile;

With torn and bleeding hearts we smile

And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be over-wise,

In counting all our tears and sighs?

Nay, let them only see us while

We wear the mask.

We smile, but oh great Christ, our cries

To Thee from tortured souls arise.

We sing, but oh the clay is vile

Beneath our feet, and long the mile;

But let the world dream otherwise,

We wear the mask!" –Paul Laurence Dunbar

If muggles knew one thing, it was to write. Yes, Joshua Gibbon was a closet muggle literature fan. And when a one night stand would find a poetry book scattered lazily on his apartment floor, she'd often talk about the ever cliché Romeo and Juliet. Whenever this happened, he felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. Those girls thought themselves deep and intelligent for it but they knew not he thought it was the dumbest novel inexistence.

See, Joshua Gibbon hated the entire plot. He found it rather ridiculous, really. _Because honestly, for one thing, Romeo was a slightly bipolar impulsive prat who jumped from woman to woman like it was his job, and therefore would've died of some sort of sexually transmitted disease before long anyway… and Juliet was a naïve and immature little girl who was just happy someone called her pretty to begin with, and therefore swooned at the sight of him. And then they got married. Which was just plain old intelligent. And they did this without their parents' knowledge… and then that afternoon, he kills her cousin and then he's surprised when he's exiled… (see A/N)_ Joshua simply thought everyone belonged in their place, where they were born to be.

He didn't ask to be a Death Eater, but that was life. He had to accept the oath because his father did, and everyone knew the Dark Lord was only getting stronger. This was the darkest wizard in existence, there was no use pretending it would all blow over soon. And that was that.

Deep down, he was unhappy. He opposed to everything Death Eaters stood for. He may have lived like an undereducated brat, spending his time downing Firewhiskey and killing innocent muggles, but he was secretly quite bright. He knew a man was only mortal, and this empire the Dark Lord had going on would come tumbling down. He knew that people were not as emotionless as they came off, nor bloodthirsty. For once, he understood the mask.

Death Eaters wore masks. It was not to hide their identity, for they were usually quite proud. It hid their shame and unhappiness. They were forced to the position of killers. It was far more comfortable for the victims to imagine heartless monsters under the masks, so that's what they saw. But under the mask stands a human who merely got tangled up in an unfortunate situation. They thought they had it bad? As purebloods, Death Eaters had to uphold a standard, keep up to the family name. They couldn't simply make themselves whoever they wanted to be. They were born with a role, and it was easier to just go with it.

No Death Eater was truly happy- except for maybe Bellatrix Lestrange, but she took a peculiar interest in pain. But they wore the mask, because it was custom. Custom of those with blood status to be cruel and a bit obsessed. Sometimes, Joshua would pray. Not to the silly muggle god, but just in general to the world. He prayed that he would one day have the courage to remove the mask and let the world see him for what he truly is- a pitiful, sensitive man. But they liked to view him as the drunken Death Eater, and he let them be. If it helped them keep their happy little realities together, in which they are the only people victimized, so be it.

He wore the mask. The world would never know of his pain, of his philosophical musings. Not a single soul cared enough to go through his trashed apartment which reeked of alcohol and find his Journal, which he titled the Dawn of the Tears. No one bothered to discover the origin of his drunkard nature- that he only wished to forget his woes. Knowledge can kill you- not directly, but slowly nibble your insides until you collapse like a house of cards. He was a compassionate man, but he let the world dream otherwise. He wore the mask.

* * *

><p>"After years upon years of silence<p>

I found I cannot make a sound.

I try to scream-

I feel the vibration in my throat, the strain on my chest-

But nothing comes out

After years upon years of wishing to blend in,

I found myself invisible.

No one sees me as I squirm,

As I suffocate in these crowded halls.

I try to wave, to be noticed and seen,

But it's too late- it is though I am merely steam.

After years upon years of loneliness,

I ound I have no friends.

I try t call them, I make the effort-

But it is too late.

I've shunned tem out, I kept to myself,

And now that I myself am not enough,

Not a single soul is willing to help.

So here I sit as the final hour comes.

Alone, invisible, unable to make a sound."- ME! DO NOT COPY!

Azkaban. Every child's worst nightmare. It was just plain dreary. The demetors made it so cool, keeping the constant mist. Most of the prisoners aren't good conversation- mainly because they've lost the ability to form coherent sentences. But one women was still sane, for the time being.

She never complained, never wished for death, never uttered vengeful words in her sleep. She never begged nor bribed. She was just there- alone, as she had been every day of her life.

It started at a young age. She didn't show signs of magic, nd her parents were worried. They bought her a broom, thinking it may bring it out in her. On her sister's birthday, after her brother demonstrated how to ride the broom, she fell off it seemingly dejected from it. Her parents immediately called a healer. Afterwards, when her hand was in a cast, a picture was taken. It featured three kids- two close together, and one far away. That's all she ever saw in the picture. How far away she was of everyone else.

She never went to Hogwarts, she was "home schooled". Truly, her parents were too ashamed to admit she was a squib. She wasn't allowed to socialize much, in fear of the secret getting out. Her closest friend was the house elf, and even that was a slave of the family which was forced to be there.

During the first Wizarding War, a hate crime was commited against muggles. She was helping the muggles when the Aurors came. She didn't know how to properly communicate with humans- she was awfully shy and never got much practice- so she just kept silent. They assumed she had commited the crime and dragged her away. Her parents preferred to let them take her then admit what they had produced.

And so it was. The squib- who until today remains nameless for she has never uttered a word- suffers for someone else. She basks in her own loneliness. And every last bit of happiness- though to be frank, there wasn't much, was sucked out of her.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The Romeo and Juliet rant in here is from After a Storm by caputdraconis14 which you should most definitely out. I laughed so hard while reading it I couldn't *not* repost it- especially when I felt it was so needed here. But it is most certainly not mine. Also, clearly the poem isn't mine. And in case you are wondering, tis is from the first war. Now, for my apology- sorry I haven't updated for so long. I was trying to write this tragic forbidden love thing (very different then Matthew and Skye, but someone was still supposed to die / be heartbroken). Anyhow, I just lost my taste for that one (and my draft. It kind of disappeared ino cyberspace :/ ). Anyhow, I got a bit of writer's block and then while listening to the TeraBrite song version of We Wear the Mask which you will very uch enjoy air guitaring to, I came up with this. This was to express the Death Eater side of the equation. What did you think? Suggestions?**

**Forever here and writing,**

**-M.A. Ehrenreich**


	4. Lucinda Williams

**A/N: Hey guys, sorry for being away for so long. Life happened. Scratch that- writer's block happened. Everything I wrote turned out terrible. But I'm back. This chapter is just a really short story that I wanted to post to give you little readers something to feed on until I finish my next chapter. It came to me in a dream (my subconscious is so entertaining). Anyway, I don't want to give away too much, but I *am* really excited about it. Just to give you an idea, it will feature Bellatrix's daughter. "Bellatrix had no daughter, M.A! What are you tryng to sell up here?". Calm yourself, people. This is fanfiction. And it's not going to be completely out of the storyline or out of character either- in facct, it's going to be fairly realistic. This is getting out of hand. I'll stop now. Don't forget to review, even if you already have before. Show me someone is reading this.**

* * *

><p>A single knock on the door woke her up. And despite it being as late as it was, Lucinda opened up. She couldn't help wishing that maybe he was still there. Of course, it wasn't him. It hasn't been him for the past seven years. Her husband rose out of bed and asked her what she was doing outside. He asked about her tears. But of course, she couldn't tell him. She never told him. She did what she's always done- she blamed it on the rain.<p>

* * *

><p>It was 1995 and Lucinda was in love. William and Lucinda were both just out of Hogwarts and chose to ignore the rubbish about you-know-who's return. They borrowed some money from William's mum and decided to do what any young, love struck couple would- travel before the weight of the world sets down upon their shoulders.<p>

They went all over Europe, completely disconnected from any wizarding news. Then again, would it have saved them? No, they would have ignored it, erased it from their mind. They were 18 and preferred to live in their own, happy realities. Dark magic and horrible prejudice was beyond them.

Unfortunately, two ruthless Death Eaters were also traveling along northern Europe, on a quest to recruit the Giants. They weren't very successful in their mission, which resulted in frustration and, worst, anger.

Death Eaters don't value life. They don't think of whom they're killing or the consequences of their actions. They kill because they can- simple as that. They kill because it's what everyone else does. They kill because killing is power. They kill because it makes them forget how truly weak they really are.

When two furious Death Eaters stumble upon your tent, you know you're in trouble. William was born to the First Wizarding War. He knew who they were and what they wanted. And he couldn't risk them seeing Lucinda- for if they could kill a pureblood, what would they do to a muggle born?

William kissed Lucinda, a soft, tender kiss. She wasn't fully aware of what was happening- she wasn't born to his world. "Don't forget me" he whispered in her ear, as if she could. And before she could say "I love you", he was out of the tent. The Death Eaters were half-mad by that point. They didn't care who he was, they just blasted him. And Lucinda, still in shock inside the tent, had nothing to do once she saw the green light flash.

She heard them leave, laughing like the sadistic mad men they were. "A shame," one said. "He was a pureblood. We don't like to spill the blood of our own". Once they were far away, she got out of the tent and openly sobbed against his now cold body. Why did it happen? He was just an innocent traveler. They didn't even care about his blood or his opinions- they carelessly tossed their spells around as if they meant nothing. As if his life meant nothing- which it did, to them. He was just another man in their way. Just another stress ball, someone they could kill without any consequences merely because they felt like it.

An emotional wreck, she traveled to France. She couldn't go back to England- she couldn't have people asking about him. She couldn't make herself tell his family. And who would believe her? No one wanted to believe you-know-who was back.

She came to the wizarding community in France crying, for she knew she had just left her life. She took nothing with her- nothing to remind her that any of it was real, that he was real. She decided then to take his name- William- as her last. People would not confuse her with Lucinda Tristen, who was about to become another one of the missing witches from England. No, she'd be Lucinda Williams, the witch who would never have to explain what happened on that terrible trip.

With nowhere to go, she continued weeping in the street. And as she wept, a man of 23 came up to her and asked what was wrong. She didn't know this man would become a friend and, eventually, a lover. She just told him the most ridiculous excuse she could think of. "Oh, I'm not crying" she told him with a hollow smile. "It's just the rain on my face."


	5. Clarification

**bookworm and pretty much anyone anywhere: the last A/N was incredibly confusing and poorly written. Allow me to elaborate- the *next* chapter will feature Bellatrix's daughter. This (or, the previous) chapter is a short filler. Worry not, it will be very clear that Lestrange is a heartless monster, or just a highly disturbed pupil. It's going to be very open t your interpretation and… I need to stop writing about it and start writing it. Again, don't forget to review! Also, I apologize for the lack of character development in the previous chapter, but I didn't feel it was necessary. I felt like they could be anyone- just your average high school sweethearts. Which is why they're so sad- they're not *real* characters and they don't get a *real* chapter. Lucinda often weeps herself to sleep, and William is rolling over in his lack of a grave.**


	6. Kara and David Pond

**A/N: I have failed you. See, I wrote the Bellatrix/Voldemort, I truly did. But my computer crashed, and many files were deleted- that included. I couldn't bring myself to rewrite it- you know how it is, you lose inspiration. After that loss, it took me a while to get back to writing, but here I am- beautifully tragic as ever. I hope you enjoy.**

**I'm sorry about the A/Ns in the beggining of the chapters, I hate when writers do that, but it was neccessary. I'll go back to the usual formatt soon. Also, please understand just how much your reviews mean to me- they literally make my day. And I'd like to personally thank DZAuthor for your sincere, touching review. Thank you for reading.**

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><p>Following the First Wizarding War, the Ministry stated it would start a new program within the wizarding schools of Europe (or, rather, start it at Hogwarts and hope it'll catch on). This program would include a mandatory Wizarding Ethics class in all age groups. The curriculum would include ancient philosopher's writings about morals and how they apply to today's wizarding society. Naturally, the ministry appointed Julia Pond, a well educated woman in her thirties, to teach this new class.<p>

Hogwarts was buzzing with the usual excitement of a new year, along with the added thrill of meeting a new professor. Fourth years were absolutely delighted, as they were awarded the privilege of meeting her first, as soon as classes started. The thrill died down a bit when they recalled the textbook they had to bring; a dull, gloomy looking book with an unappealing title- 'The Value of Life'.

In her dorm room, Julia was preparing herself for the day. "New year, new you" she kept muttering to herself. She wore casual robes- dignified enough for a teacher, but not nearly as formal as Professor McGonagall. She cursed her messy nature as she stormed about the room, scanning every available surface for the hair brush she evidently misplaced. "Oh, Merlin" she sighed as she glanced at the mirror, repulsed by her reflection. She didn't bother complaining about the uneven skin, textured with various scars. She was already used to the glaring gray eyes that were a bit too far apart, as well as her slightly crooked nose. No, it was the unruly mess of dirty blonde hair that slightly resembled a bird's nest. A talking clock informed her that it was 7:45 and she quickly gathered her lesson plan, abandoning the untamable mess on her head.

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><p>It was 7:55 when the students began arriving in the classroom, dazed and confused. A few morning people were a tad hyperactive, bouncing around the classroom and taking advantage of every second they has before class began. Others sat, eyes half closed, resting their head on their desks and clearly wondering what on earth were they doing awake at such an ungodly hour. It was easy to locate the class klutz (and before anyone denies it, every class has one). He was slightly on the chubby side with adorably pink cheeks and his previously clean robes now wore the remains of his morning pumpkin juice, as well as some ink he managed to spill. Finally, as the last of the students arrived they all sat down and she began.<p>

"Hello. I am your new Wizarding Ethics teacher. You may call me Professor Pond. In this class, we will be studying about the ancient manuscripts of the world's wisest philosophers- some wizard, some muggle- and how they affect our society. Now, does everyone have the textbook 'The Value of Life'?" She asked.

A few energetic students nodded, while others resumed starring at her.

"Excellent. Now, while this may be a bit of a depressing topic, in light of the recent war the Ministry of Magic would like to make sure every single one of you understands this. This class will be very different from any other class you've experienced. You'll be asked to think about things you may not feel so comfortable thinking about, such as to what extent can you go to save your loved ones life- would it be acceptable to trade a less worthy life for another? Sacrifice the lesser man? How do you define the lesser man, and what if he wouldn't like to be sacrificed?" the professor continued, though the class was absolutely unresponsive.

No fourteen-year-old should have to think about these things, yet the truth was that in the past few years so many were forced to. Would it help to expose them to these questions earlier, in a classroom environment? Or were they just not mature enough to handle it? Seeing the absolute grave expressions on such young faces, she found her answer; they've been pushed into maturity far too early. These were no longer children, but adult souls trapped in young bodies. They knew grief, betrayal and pain just as she had. Maturity would never be a problem with this lot.

"Alright, let's start with a brilliant muggle piece. Get out your quills, everyone, you'll want to take notes. Title the page 'Water for Two'. Now, this text describes a certain situation. You're on a lovely desert walk with your friend, but it goes terribly wrong and you end up somewhat lost. You'll soon both die of thirst. Luckily, you brought water. Unfortunately, you're irresponsible friend didn't. Really, you should get better friends. Anyhow, you have enough water for you to reach the nearest village- fantastic! You'll make it out alive; unfortunately, your friend wont. Then again, if you split it, you'll both die. What to do?" She asked, watching as a few of her students day dreams while others went deep into thought.

"Now, we're going by Hebrew morals first, since they were the first ones to discuss this situation. Bin Ptorah said that you should and your buddy should split it, because one should prefer death over watching his friend die. This was accepted until Rabi Acciva went and pulled out a quote from the bible. I suppose it loses something in translation, but it goes something like 'and may you live among your brother'. While people always accepted this as 'your brother lives among you', Rabi Acciva pointed out that 'you' was placed before 'your brother' and therefore your existence is the condition for your brother's. Everyone open to page 348 in your textbooks, where we find various wise men debating this case." She said, watching her class flip open to the correct page.

"Here, Ahad Haam says that all life belongs to god and therefore, mathematically speaking, one life is better than none. Also, he says that since your life belongs to god, you are not allowed to give up and simply return it. What have we learned? Sacrifice and Suicide is not accepted by Jewish morals. On the other hand, we have Damiel. He says that you need to get over your self pity and work for the greater good- forget the effects that leaving your friend to die would have on you, think of what it would do to the society. Therefore you must think of the greater good and split the water. This is quite unusual coming from a Jewish philosopher, considering the whole Ahad Haam thing."

"When the ancient Greeks come in, they bring a whole new factor into the equation- who should drink? The Jewish philosophers all agreed that you cannot simply give up on life and hand the drink over- the drink belongs to whomever brought it and he decides whether or not he graces his friend with the right to drink. They also added what would happen if the man was a stranger and not a friend. A particularly nasty Greek philosopher talked about the option of murdering the man who brought the drink so you could keep it all to yourself. He even said that if you don't attempt to steal the drink (taking into consideration that there are no witnesses), while you may be noble, you are a fool. "

After discussing this text for a while, Julia noticed the class was coming to an end. "I don't care how long you make it" she said, "but I want you to write which of these choices is the ultimate sacrifice. I need you to put some though into this." She finished, and dismissed the slightly dazed students off to transfiguration.

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><p>"Hello, Julia. I trust your first day was well?" Professor Dumbledore greeted the new employee as she entered his office.<p>

"Delightful, teaching children about death" she said, sarcasm dripping off each word.

"Tell me, Julia, why are you so keen on opening the year with a lesson about murder and sacrifice?" He asked, his unfathomable eyes boring into hers.

"I feel as though it's important. I wish someone had taught me." She replied easily.

"I had to learn the hard way." She added. He would have responded, but her mind was in faraway places and he decided to let her be.

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><p><em>She was in her office, grading papers. Of course, some students didn't understand the assignment at all and handed in total rubbish. It was those students she absolutely could not stand- instead of asking, they just bullshitted their way through the paper. Others were fairly good. But the one she was reading- in neat, narrow handwriting- was absolutely brilliant.<em>

"_The ultimate sacrifice is letting your friend drink, that much is obvious. However, I'd like to raise another point here. The most painful thing to do would be to drink it all by yourself, even if your friend not only gives you permission but shoves it down your throat. In class, you mentioned how we can't resist keeping the whole drink to ourselves- after all, we're only human. I beg to differ. When we love someone, our instincts don't mean anything anymore. It doesn't matter what specie you are- once you love, you love. You cannot stand the thought of living without him. That means that while you will only benefit from the act of saving yourself, it will be the choice that you will be most reluctant to make. _

_"Sacrifice is noteworthy, but guilt… it hurts much more than anything you could have lost giving the the one you love. The guilt of holding back will kill you a thousand times over, every second of everyday. Maybe, at some point, it'll begin to die down. You won't think about it for a while. And when you do, you'll be thinking about how you think of it- of him- less and less, how you can't remember minor details like the placement of the freckles on his face, or the sound of his breathes when he slept. Then it'll all come back, and you'll feel guilty about not feeling guilty, and it'll hurt once again. Will it ever stop?"_

_It sounded too familiar. Impresive, but way too familiar. She glanced at the name, and cried out when she saw it was her own. With an ear-piercing scream, she woke up._

Sweating like a troll, Julia paced around her bedroom. She couldn't fall asleep again- that much was obvious. 'Why did have to chose a topic so close to home?' she thought to herself. She wiped the sweat off her face, and felt far too much water. Was she.. crying? It seemed she was. She hadn't cried about it for so long, it felt a bit awkward and unfamiliar, like walking around your old street after you're all grown up.

"Oh, David… Why did you have to be so brave?" she whispered.

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><p>It was September 7th, and like every year, Julia took her father to visit her mother's and her brother's grave. Like every year, she wept because of their loss, and because of the guilt.<p>

Like every year she recalled how her mother, Kara, went first, and how David, her father and her panicked. She recalled the look of pure terror of his young face as he realized what had to be done. She recalled him sacrificing himself to distract the Death Eaters at their door, allowing father and her to escape through the Vanishing Cabinet.

She always promises she'll make it up for him, do something meaningful- something worth his death. She promises she'll do more than just live, that next time she'll be proud to say she's living for both of them, but she can't. All she'll ever be is ordinary Julia, undeserving of her brother's immense sacrifice. Undeserving of the life he gave her.


End file.
